


Reverie

by mr-finch (soubriquet)



Category: The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: Dream Sex, Dreams vs. Reality, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-10
Updated: 2018-09-10
Packaged: 2019-07-10 11:17:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15948266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soubriquet/pseuds/mr-finch
Summary: David can't stop dreaming about Frank Castle.





	1. Chapter 1

The first time David dreams about Frank, he's lying flat on his face on the camp bed sleeping off one too many whiskies. Maybe it’s the drink that does it, or maybe he’s so starved for touch that his brain reaches for the nearest other person.

He feels Frank’s hand on his back - knows it’s Frank, even before the guy’s low timbre reaches his ears. “You alright there, Lieberman?”

David doesn’t feel much up to replying, but he grunts some sort of affirmative into his pillow. Jesus, what was he drinking  _for_ last night?

“Oh-kay,” Frank says, like he doesn’t believe it. “You let me know if you’re gonna puke.”

Puke? No. David feels more like the aftermath of a train wreck, like his face has been pummelled against a wall and now looks more like Frank’s than his own. “M’ fine,” he manages to say, weakly.  Frank’s hand is still flat against his back and it’s warmer than his skin. David can even feel the callouses on Frank's fingers through his thin t-shirt. 

“Sure,” Frank says. When David doesn’t offer anything else, Frank chuckles. “You still got your shoes on.”

“Doaye?” David wiggles his toes - oh, yep, he can still feel those and they have sneakers hanging off them like weights. He makes a concerted effort to think for a moment and investigates the rest of himself, in case he forgot something else like a bullet wound or a - he winces - head injury.

Frank’s hand on his back is helpful, grounding, so David starts there. He’s wearing a t-shirt. He knows that. It’s rumpled up at the front, making his neck slightly crowded and uncomfortable. He’s wearing jeans too- no, slacks. They’re twisted up and tight too. One of his hands is gripping the pillow, the other squashed underneath his hip. David doesn’t think he just fell face-first into bed. It looks more like he thrashed around for a while. Trying to get to sleep?

“What’d I do?” he slurs into the pillow, turning his head just a bit so that Frank can hear him. It’s a terrible idea: the yellow light spears him straight through the eyes and he smothers his face in the pillow again.

Frank, being Frank, doesn’t specify. “You embarrassed yourself,” he says, and David is glad his face is hidden now because all he think about is what he might have done while he was that drunk. “And now you’re sleeping it off.”

David responds with a weak laugh.

“Well,” Frank says. “You were.” 

The comforting hand disappears from his back and David hears the scrape and clatter of a chair being drawn up. He feels more than sees Frank sit down. “I’m gonna read,” Frank says. “You sleep. I’m here."

That’s a funny thing for Frank to say, David thinks, until he remembers just how exhausted he is and falls back into a dreamless sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

The second time David dreams about Frank, they're at a bar somewhere in Manhattan. Frank is laughing as he tips back his bottle of beer and drinks. They’re both flushed, like they’ve been there for a while, and David knows it’s a dream because Frank would never come out in public like this,  _he_ would never come out in public like this. Neither of them would ever dream of going for a drink somewhere this obvious; neither of them would dream of having this much fun. Except David, maybe.

“What did you do  _before_ the military?” David asks, rolling his own beer bottle against the bar top.

“Don’t ask me that,” Frank says, in good humour. “You read my file, you know already.”

David bows his head in exaggerated acknowledgement and spreads his arm out. “Which is why I want to hear it from you. You- the guy it happened to, not from some doctored piece of paper or a wikipage."

Frank eyes David over the bottle - hopefully, because he’s decided to humour him. He sets his beer down on the bar between them. “You know I never held a gun before I joined the Marines?"

David thinks for a moment, then replies: “Yeah- no I didn’t know that.”

Frank raises one eyebrow. “Yeah, there I was: eighteen and full of so much shit it was starting to fall outta my ears.” 

David chuckles and takes another swig of his beer. 

“My CO comes over to me the day we start shooting and he’s yelling at me, busting my ass - that’s not how you hold it, I’ve told you how to hold it, you piss with your dick in your hand like that, private?"

David’s laughing now, picturing Frank’s face. He rests his elbow on the bartop, feeling pleasantly warm.

“I try to figure out what I’m doing wrong and before I can he grabs me by the wrist, empties the clip into the target and ejects the mag. Then he hands me the glock and - shut up, stop laughing - he says ‘here, go take a piss with this until you can hold it like a Marine’."

Frank joins David then, laughing at the ridiculousness of it all. Shaking his head, David runs his hand over his face. “My god, Frank. You’re still full of surprises. Somehow.”

“Don’t go thinking you know everything, David.” Frank is eyeing him with a pleased look on his face; his eyes all crinkled up and the corner of his mouth twitching. “I might surprise you.”

With a rare content Frank in front of him, David can’t help but answer honestly: “Yeah, you do that.” He tips his beer at Frank and drinks the last bit, before setting it down on the bartop and reaching into his pocket. “We done, or are we gonna stay here all night?”

“Oh, I was all for knocking out the bartender and drinking for ten more hours,” Frank says.

David shoots him a look, trying to read him. “You’re joking,” he says, slowly, and Frank’s poker face breaks into the goofiest smile. David rolls his eyes and grabs Frank by the arm, hauling him upright. “Come on, _soldier_.”

“You know,” Frank says, after David tosses some cash on the counter and they push through the double doors. “It’s funny hearing you call me that.”

David shivers in the fresh night air, pulling his furry hood up and sticking his hands in his pockets. “Yeah?” he says, joining Frank as they start to walk down the street.

“A Marine is a Marine; he isn’t a soldier,” Frank says, sticking his hands in the pockets of his hoodie. “But Maria used to say that sometimes.” 

David belatedly realises that Frank must be freezing without a coat on - it stopped snowing hours ago, but the stuff is still on the ground - and starts to open his mouth to hail a cab, but swallows the words and every thought that goes with them when Frank carries on. “It was kinda hot."

David would ask him what he means, but both sentient thought and the air in his lungs have just jumped back about a block. He just keeps walking. Eventually it comes out, a little scrambled. “Whaddayouamean?”

Frank grins. “Just something she used to say. Only when she was drunk and the difference didn’t matter.”

At that description, David starts to get an inkling of exactly when Maria used to call Frank that and feels his face go hot - hopefully invisibly - in the darkness broken only by a few streetlights. After a few seconds, he clears his throat. “So you, uh, you had nicknames?”

Frank doesn’t speak immediately, just keeps on breathing out white gusts of air, so David hurries on in case he’s sticking his foot in it. “That’s cool, man. I called Sarah a whore one time after she said she wanted to change it up; didn’t go down too well.”

Frank grunts in response to David’s nervous speech, which gives David an idea. “I don’t know though, Frank. Soldier? I would’ve expected you to be honey-bunny.”

That earns him a shove to his arm, though they’re both laughing, and David slips on the sidewalk and goes down to his knees in a pile of sludge. “Oh it is _on_ ,” he says, grabbing a handful and heading for Frank.

Seeing the guy coming for him, Frank raises his fists like a boxer. “It’s on, huh? Come on then, Lieberman, come and get me.” He can’t hide the smirk on his face, especially not when David hesitates, not keen to get thrown back on the ground.

Suddenly, David catches sight of something to Frank’s right and Frank - yes, slightly drunk and no, that doesn't excuse it - glances that way, just in case they’ve been followed. It’s a ploy and it makes way for David’s newest tactic: to just throw himself at Frank, figuring he’ll be too close to get round-housed.

It works, even if David only gets as far as grabbing Frank’s hoodie by the neckline before he gets blocked. They scrabble over the hold for a few seconds, half of the snow falling out of David’s hand and splattering them both in the struggle. Some of it still manages to drop down past Frank’s throat and David lets out a triumphant “Ha!” 

He lets Frank go then, but his face falls as he realises Frank has him in his clutches. “Ohhh, you are gonna get it now,” Frank croons, dragging David towards him by the elbow and the front of his coat. “Better start praying.”

David has been close to Frank before: he's held him down while Frank was getting cut open, stitched him up countless times and most memorably he has been the object of Frank’s anger, back when neither of them trusted the other. Even so, face to face with Frank this time and unable to escape him, David can’t think of a response. All his body can do is react.

When David tenses rather than replies, Frank glances up and gets a glimpse of David’s flushed face and open mouth. David's breathing hard - they both are - and he’s gone completely still in Frank’s grip. Frank makes an assessing noise, low in his throat, and watches David swallow.

“You like that, do you?” Frank says, quieter. He’s starting to go red now: it creeps along his cheekbones and flares just under his eyes. His grip tightens when David makes a weak noise. 

“Huh.” Frank leans in even closer, tilting his head up to look into David’s eyes. “Wonder what you’ll think of this,” he murmurs, and - David’s heart is going to explode - he brushes their lips together.

David squeezes his eyes shut and makes a very embarrassing sound into Frank’s mouth, but when one of Frank’s hands touches the side of his face, he opens them again. Only to see Frank Castle's dark gaze inches away, looking just as shocked as him.

Inches is too far, so David tilts his head down and meets Frank’s lips again, kissing him in long, drawn-out gasps. If they’re doing this, they’re doing this. He fists his hand in Frank’s hoodie again and presses against him, knowing they’re in public, knowing they’re on display; not caring.

Their legs entwine as much as they can while they're still standing and Frank’s mouth leaves David's to focus on the side of his neck, leaving little wet marks all the way down it. David shivers and shoves Frank’s hoodie up in response, running his hand under his shirt to touch his skin, stroke his chest: that fucking Adonis of a body rising and falling just for him.

“We gotta get out of here,” Frank says suddenly, breaking away, his eyes wild and bright and his lower lip swollen from what David - _David_ \- has just done.

“No we don’t,” David says, running his hand lower, over Frank’s jeans. Frank pushes into his hand when he gets to what he wants, just as desperate as David is. “No we don’t."

“Someone’ll see,” Frank says, straining, even as he thrusts into David’s hand. David can’t believe he’s seeing him like this: completely and utterly enthralled. He knows it would never happen.

“It’s all right,” David says, unbuttoning Frank’s jeans with shaking fingers. “It’s a dream, Frank. Just a dream. Go with it.” And Frank does, hard as fuck in David’s hand until he’s not, until he’s murmuring nonsense that David barely hears, until Frank’s coming apart against him—

*

The sheets of the cot are twisted and wet in a very obvious patch over David’s crotch. He rolls onto his side, suddenly very glad that Frank didn’t return last night, and reaches for his robe, only to find that he’s still half-hard.

It doesn’t take a genius to know why. Hot with the memory of the dream still playing in his head, David reaches down and strokes himself until he’s coming again: open-mouthed and panting against the pillow. He wishes it was Frank’s mouth there, but it's not and it never will be. He’ll just have to settle for dreams.


End file.
